If the Girl's still breathing
by Tasareswrist
Summary: Denethor remembers  the death of his wife. Smutty.


Title: If the girl's still breathing...  
A LORD OF THE RINGS FANFIC  
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Denethor/Finduilas, Denethor/nameless whore  
Rating: NC-17  
Word Count: 1339  
Summary: Denethor remembers the death of his wife  
Warnings/ Kinks: sex, necro (dead people), asphyxiation (choking)

Necessary Crossover line: "What's the matter, graverobber? Can't get it up if the girl's still breathing?"  
_  
The young woman was a whore, flattered that the Steward of Gondor had chosen her to take to bed. Hair the same color as the boys, in her early twenties, anyone less vacuous than her would have figured that it was because she bore a vague resemblance to my late wife. I took her in the bed I had shared with my wife, engaged in the same practices Finduilas and I had enjoyed. I'd wrap my hand around her throat, bearing down on her. Finduilas had enjoyed it, smiling and clenching down around me before I let go and her chest reinflated, her breath hard on my ear once I had finished rutting in her. This girl didn't enjoy it so much, none of them did, strugging against my hand, hard against her throat, until she couldn't struggle anymore and she went limp._

I knew I would only have a few minutes, I had to hurry before she woke.

After trying unsuccessfully to breath life back into her, the first thing I did was put on my robe, pacing the room, trying to work out what to do. It had been an accident. I never wanted her to die, but when I couldn't bring her back, I was afraid. I feared for myself, if anyone had found out that I had been the cause of my beloved wife not waking up from the night's rest I could be thrown out of my position. If Boromir discovered I was the one who killed his mother, he would never forgive me. Not so much for the sake of his mother- Boromir had always been much closer to me than her, he was an independent child, but he loved his kid brother, and Finduilas's death would be the end of Faramir's childhood as he knew it. He would be unhappy, and Boromir would blame this on me. No one could find out what I'd done. I would have to wait until the sunrise to report her not stirring, all respectable people were abed at this hour.

My head was spinning with what I'd done. How had I not foreseen this? I cursed at myself and flung open the window, breathing in the cool, fall air, each shaking breath burning in my throat. It made the world spin a little less. My body was on fire, sweating, burning, I was sick with guilt, confusion, the panicking, how to try to cover this up. I stood at the window, looking down over the city, trying to envision the boy's reaction. Boromir was harder to picture, he was so strong, I'd never seen him devastated in the ten years of his life. Faramir was easier, not because he had suffered any great tragedy that I could recall a reaction from, but rather because he had his mother's face. Smaller, with a nose that bore more resemblance to my own, but he was clearly Finduilas's child.

I felt the bile coming up my throat and I wretched out of the window, spilling the half-digested remains of my dinner outside onto the grassy ground below. I pulled in from the window, shaking and sank against the wall, sitting, staring at my bed, with the corpse of my wife on it. I crept over to her, crawling on my knees until I was next to the bed. I put my elbows up next to her. Her face was a pale blue, I could hardly see her in just the moonlight from the open window, but I took her hand, pressing it to my face, dampening it with my tears. "Finduilas..." I murmured at her body. A sob wretched it's way out of my body, but I tried to keep my mourning silent, for the boy's sake. I wouldn't want to wake them. There wasn't even a bruise where I had wrapped my hand around her delicate, pale throat. I reached out and stroked her cheek with my knuckle. Her skin was cold and clammy already, likely my own fault from letting the window stay open so long. I hadn't bothered to cover her with a blanket, and I found myself looking down her body, running my rough fingers down her milky white flesh. Caressing her. She was still my wife, though her soul had departed. I felt a familiar stirring in me.

I leaned up and kissed her gently on her lips before standing up and taking my robe back off, hanging it next to the bed. I lay myself down next to her, pulling her into my arms, resuming touching her cool skin. Her face was still beautiful. She was twenty years my junior, and still lovely. Not a wrinkle, and only the very first hints of her light brown hair beginning to grey. So young. Had she lived, she would have had so much potential. Her neck was the same perfect flesh as her face, glowing white in the pale light. Her breasts were larger than they had been ten years ago, before Boromir and his brother had nursed at them. I kissed her pale nipples and nipped at them gently, smiling at her lack of reaction.

Her belly was flat, only a slight, smooth bulge in it now... no one but me and her had known that she was with child, she wanted to wait to tell the boys. She had last bled almost four months ago. This brought me pause from the intentions I had with her. Was the child still alive? No. It wouldn't survive without it's mother, not this early in it's life. I had killed my child, as well as the love of my life. I kissed her belly button, gently rubbing my hand over her womb, where three of our children had lived and one had died. The future I had envisioned for us had gone now.

I shifted myself above her, still gently kissing her belly, slowly working my way down. I must admit I had never gotten such a thrill as I did from her non-reaction, the feel of her freezing flesh. My breath was hot and heavy on her as I kissed her thighs, gently pushing her legs apart. I moved up over her, now, kissing her lips. "Finduilas..." I murmured into her hair as I pushed myself into her body, still moist from when I was last in her, her insides cool, but still flexible enough to take me in. My breath shuddered as I thrust within her, kissing her face, cooler and paler than it ever had been in life, but still beautiful. "I love you, I love you, I love you..." I was panting now, sweating atop her, my clammy flesh pressed tight against hers, I couldn't hold it in any more, she was so perfect and cold and tight...

_All at once, I heard a sharp gasp next to my ear and I was jolted back to the present, I spilled my seed within the whore as she clenched around me and gripped my arm. "Shh... shhh... calm yourself..." I whispered, rocking within her for another moment. "You were only gone for a moment." I assured her before she had the chance to panic about how long she had not ben conscious for, I was used to this by now. I stood and pulled on my robe, going to a basin on the other side of my room. "You may leave now." I coldly informed the girl, who was shaking as she re-dressed and fled. "Speak of this to no one!" I called after her as she left. I was assured that she would not; she was a mere whore, and I was the steward of Gondor. No one would believe her if she spoke to them of my affliction, my inability to finish if the girl was still breathing._

I lay on my bed, still the same I had shared with my wife, more than twenty years ago. Sometimes I could still feel her presence, haunting me.

She had cursed me with this.


End file.
